le girl
whose naughtiness had found her out. Henry pushed her roughly
toward her pile of clothes with the succinct order, "Now dress."
He made a screen of his body between her and the five pairs of
eyes that were bobbing about so exasperatingly on the water.

Behind the screen Margery shivered helplessly. "Ain't got nothin'
to wipe with," she sniffled.

Very carefully and deliberately, without exposing for an instant
the form of his frail sister, Henry deposited on the ground his
tin can of minnows, went through all his pockets, and finally
pulled out a small, dirty handkerchief. As he handed this over
his shoulder, the little boys in the water laughed.

"Say, Henry, will you lend me that towel when Margery's through
with it?" asked Charley Burns facetiously.

"I'll punch your head when I ketch you. That's what I'll do to
you."

Charley did not continue the subject.

Presumably the handkerchief served its purpose, for Margery's
next words showed that dressing had progressed a bit.

"I can't get my stockin's on," she quavered.

"Pull 'em on," grunted the screen unfeelingly.

A few moments later there was similar trouble with the shoes, and
Margery sent out a tearful announcement:

"They just won't go on."

"They got to," remarked the screen firmly.

"But I tell you they won't. They're my new ones and they won't go
on without a shoe-horn."

"Stamp on 'em!" commanded Henry gruffly.

Behind the screen convulsive excitement followed, accompanied by
a certain Jack-in-the-box effect which seemed highly to amuse the
little boys in the water.

"That's right, Margery. Stamp on 'em!" they repeated derisively
until cowed into silence by Henry's stony stare.

"I can't button my dress," was Margery's final plaint.

"You got to."

"But I tell you I can't," she insisted, her voice rising to a
long-drawn wail. "It buttons behind."

With the utmost dignity the screen slowly turned itself around.
That was a signal for the small boys in the water to break forth
into jeers and taunts. They spoke in that treble squeal which
little boys use when they seek to imitate girls' voices.

"Say, Henry, please lend me your towel to wipe my ears."

"Button my dress, Henry."

"Where's your shoe-horn, Henry?"

Apparently Henry's calm remained unshaken. In reality he made a
rather poor job of the buttoning. As soon as the back of the
dress promised to hold together, he stopped. Then, firmly
clutching Margery's arm in one h